


Don't Look Innocent Enough

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set on one of Cobra and TAI's early tours together.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Don't Look Innocent Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Set on one of Cobra and TAI's early tours together.

William is a tease.

That isn't news; everyone knows it. William likes to lean on people, likes to hug, likes to run his fingers through everyone's hair and sit in their laps and hold hands while they wander aimlessly around Wherever, USA, killing time before sound check. Half of the time it's not intentional teasing, just tactility and affection and the blurry evaporation of boundaries that happens between bands on tour in general and bands on Decaydance in particular.

The other half of the time, he's doing it on purpose. Victoria is very sure of that. It's some kind of game and he's the only one keeping score, because the rules live in his head and William doesn't let people into his head just because he's tucked his hand into the back pocket of their jeans for a while now and then. Or even because he's flat-out fucked them, really. Or is in a band with them. Or...actually, if there's a pattern to figuring out who gets to get inside William's head, nobody seems to know about it.

William is a puzzle. A puzzle shaped like a boy with legs up to there and overly earnest eyes and those _fingers_ , for the love of God, those fingers and pretty hands that are never still so you can't help _noticing_ them. All the time.

"William is such a tease," she tells Gabe when they get off-stage one night. They closed the set with "Snakes," and like most nights Gabe had screamed William's name after the intro like he was summoning God, or the Cobra, and William had come bouncing out from stage left, draped himself over Victoria's shoulder, and belted out his one line over and over into her mic, laughing brightly against her neck between choruses.

Gabe tugs his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face, looking at her around the edge of the fabric like she had said something painfully obvious, like _the sky is blue_ or _Ryland is drunk._ "Yeah...?"

She shrugs, turning away from him to look in the mirror over the dressing table, not because it matters what her makeup looks like at this point, but because she hates it when he looks at her like that. Like she's something interesting he found on the side of the road and he's going to keep her around for a while to see if she can learn to do tricks.

"Victor-ia," he sing-songs, and despite herself she looks at him in the mirror and sees that his eyes are all bright with interest now. Well. That's just great. He tugs his shirt all the way off and winds it around his head like a turban. "Victoria, darling, love of my life..."

"Go away, Gabe."

"Baby girl, if you want William to bone you, I'm pretty sure all you have to do is ask. And maybe show him your tits."

Victoria doesn't really understand the motivations or appeal of strident, angry feminism. Sometimes Gabe makes her want to learn, though.

"You're an asshole," she says, and he beams at her, clasping his hands over his heart.

"You have _fantastic_ tits, Ms. Asher," he says, then ducks the hairbrush she throws at him. "And you're all angry, like a tiger. Rawr."

"I hate you," she tells him, and goes back to the bus instead of to the after-party. If she tells Gabe off in public, it'll probably be caught on camera, put on YouTube, and all the Internet people will start calling her a bitch again. It still stings when that happens.  
**  
She forgives Gabe, of course. Forgiving Gabe is non-optional, because if he isn't forgiven within about thirty-six hours he gets all anxious and panicky and drives everyone nuts with increasingly extravagant efforts to apologize that would be annoying even if they weren't confined to a space the size of the bus.

Plus it's not his fault he's an asshole, really. He didn't ask to be born without a brain.

Another night, another show, and this time when they do "Snakes" William tugs the scarf out of Victoria's hair and plays with it through the song, weaving it between his fingers and twisting it around his neck and tucking it in his back pocket before he runs up to kiss Gabe, wave to the crowd and bounce offstage again.

They play one more song after that, with her hair straggling down over the back of her neck and clinging to the sweat-damp skin. She's annoyed and pleased at once, and annoyed that she _is_ pleased, because it's just ridiculous to react to William's teasing. This isn't third-grade taunting the girl on the playground because you like her. This is just William being William, being a puzzle and a weirdo, and the correct response is to ignore him and concentrate on doing her job and having a good time.

Not necessarily in that order.  
**  
The party that night is at a house in town; it belongs to some friend of Tony's, she thinks she hears someone say. At any rate, it's kind of a maze of small, cramped rooms, which makes it feel more like five or six entirely different parties going on simultaneously. Walking from room to room is like turning a kaleidoscope.

Alex is mixing the drinks, which means they are strong and not to be found in any conventional bartender's guide. Victoria ends up with something that tastes sweet and heavy with tequila in a purple plastic cup advertising a topless bar. She wanders from room to room sipping it slowly, rolling the liquor on her tongue and half-listening to the swirl of conversation. None of it is anything of interest, and after a while it ends up being just a little too loud and aggressive. Victoria practically has a PhD in parties, but tour parties are something else, and sometimes she just gets sick of it.

She opens the only closed door she's seen so far and finds a stairway leading down into the basement. Quiet has a very strong appeal, even if it's accompanied by the smell of mildew. She turns on the light and heads down, tugging the door closed behind her.

It's more of a utility room than a full basement, with the furnace and water heater in one corner and the washer, dryer, and sink lined up against the wall. She boosts herself up onto the washer and sips her drink, kicking her feet slowly. She can hear the bass line of the music they're playing upstairs, and a vague hum of conversation, but it's distant and removed enough to let her take a deep breath again.

She picks at the hem of her skirt, frowning as she notices that the band of lace at the top of one of her stockings is pulling away from the material. She needs to start buying the stupid things in bulk or something, if they're not falling apart they're getting stolen for use in ninja warfare against the other bands or kinky sex games or God only knows--

"Victoria?"

She looks up, startled, and sees William standing on the stairs. "Hey, Bill."

"What are you doing down here?"

She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink, holding it against her tongue for a moment before she swallows. "Taking a break."

"Everything all right?"

She nods, kicking her feet again and bouncing the heels of her boots off the front of the washer. "Somebody looking for me or something?"

"No." He comes the rest of the way down the stairs and makes a vague arc across the room, veering toward the water heater before approaching her. She can't tell if he's drunk or just temporarily distracted by the lights on the temperature gauge. "The door was open a little, I could see the light."

"You having a religious experience?" she asks, grinning as he gives her a startled look. Sometimes she does get to tease back. "I don't think you're supposed to have those in basements, that means you're going the wrong direction."

"Sassy," he says, coming over to lean against the dryer. He nods at her cup. "Share?"

"I refuse to believe you don't have your own."

He laughs and makes a vague gesture of surrender. "I think I left it upstairs."

"Someone's probably going to pee in it," she says sympathetically, and he rolls his eyes.

"Everyone on this tour is disgusting."

"Tell me about it." She finishes her drink and sets the cup aside. "You stole my scarf."

"Did I?" He looks startled again, his hand going to his back pocket. He tugs the fabric free and looks at it for a moment. "Oh."

It's a cheap, ugly patterned print that she picked up at a Target somewhere, and she has about a dozen others on the bus, but it's the principle of the thing. "Well, aren't you going to give it back?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, the crooked one that doesn't happen as often as it should because it's adorable. He wads the scarf up in his palm and holds his hand behind his back. "Nope."

"No?"

"I think you should come get it."

She laughs, kicking the washer again. "William! Don't be a dick."

"Come get it, Victoria." He's taunting her, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He holds the scarf out toward her and then jumps back as she reaches for it. "You have to at least _try_."

"I don't have to do anything," she says, laughing more as his bouncing turns into some kind of ridiculous half-dance back and forth in front of her. "God, you're such a dork."

He strikes a pose, holding it up above his head, and she lunges forward, catching the end of the scarf between her fingers and yanking. He stumbles forward, landing against the washer between her legs, laughing breathlessly as the metal rings with the impact. "Ow."

"Sorry." Her knees tighten against his hips without any conscious thought, just a reflex as she can tell he doesn't have his balance. She's distracted, anyway, by the heat of his laughter against her shoulder, and the sour-sweet smell of whiskey and Coke on his breath. "You shouldn't take things that don't belong to you, though."

"I thought we all shared everything around here."

"No. You _guys_ share everything, because you're disgusting."

"So we should ask you first, for things?" He's smiling at her, still, through his lashes, even though if he stood up straight he'd more than easily be able to look her in the eye. She's never quite been able to decide if William is uncomfortable with his own height or just disinterested in seeing the world from his full possible vantage.

She's also suddenly very aware that her knees are against his thighs, and that her skirt has ridden up higher, exposing not only the lace of her stockings but a good inch and a half of her suspenders as well.

"You could at least _pretend_ to have some manners," she says as sternly as she can manage, trying to tug her skirt back down with her free hand. "And let go of my scarf."

He lets go, but doesn't step back, just keeps looking at her. She twists the scarf up in her hand and grips it tightly, refusing to look away. Never let them see you blink and never let them make you flinch, the first rules of going out on tour with the boys.

"Victoria?" he asks, and she raises an eyebrow, clutching the scarf tighter, her other palm still pressed flat to her thigh to keep her skirt in place. "May I?"

"May you what?"

"Kiss you," he says, soft and earnest like he's a gentleman, like she doesn't know better than _that_. Still. It's a solid effort.

"I didn't hear you say please." She taps him on the nose with her knuckles and he laughs, ducking his head so his hair falls down over his eyes. "But you're new at this, so I'll let it slide."

"I am most definitely not _new_ at this, Victoria." He presses his thumb over the hole in her stocking, then rubs it slowly back and forth over the lace. "Promise."

"I meant new at having manners," she says. He glances up and meets her eyes again, then slides his fingers up under the hem of her skirt, and suddenly teasing is all fun and games but this is something else, and a lot more interesting.

He leans in and kisses her, and she settles her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body under her palms through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers keep teasing along her thighs, tracing up along the lines of the suspenders and back down again, light touches that don't quite tickle and make her want to squirm.

He grins against her mouth, then says "Victoria" like he just thought of something really clever.

"What?" She cocks her head to the side, giving him one of her better flirtatious looks. He matches it, right down to a lock of hair falling forward over his eye, and she laughs and tucks it back behind his ear for him. "Did you forget who I was for a minute there?"

"Not possible," he says, and before she can come up with a reply his hand moves up her thigh again, higher this time, his fingertips sliding over the fabric of her underwear. She exhales a little roughly and he looks at her with a slight tilt of his head, an unspoken question. She hooks her heels more tightly against his legs and pulls herself closer by way of answering, and he kisses her again, slow and deep.

She's vaguely aware of the party going on upstairs--the music is louder and there's more yelling, so they've probably started the "drunken dares and bets" portion of the festivities--but as far as things she's interested in, that ranks a distant fifth after the way William is rubbing his fingers in slow, taunting circles, the slide of his tongue against hers, the taste of the whiskey and Coke in his mouth, and the little groan he makes when she moves her legs and the leather of her boots slides against the back of his thighs.

She can't help a small noise of disappointment as he pulls away, and he grins, his hands coming up to curve around her hips and tug her forward, right up to the edge of the washing machine. "I'm not a _complete_ bastard," he says, settling down on his knees in front of her and pushing the hem of her skirt up to her waist. "Leaving a girl high and dry." He guides her legs up over his shoulders and smirks. "So to speak."

"That was lame," she says, laughing a little breathlessly. It turns into real laughter as he tries to get her underwear down and runs into interference from the garter belt and stockings, but he's laughing, too, so it's okay. It's really very okay, and then it's even better when he finally gets all of her clothing situated, grins up at her one more time, and leans in to start eating her out.

He's _good_ at this, it turns out, the teasing bastard has a _talent_ , and she closes her eyes and loses herself in the mix of sensations, gripping the edge of the washer tight with one hand and tangling the fingers of the other in his hair. The alcohol in her blood and his fingers pressing against her thighs, the buzz of bass line and conversation carrying down through the floor, the little flicks and slides of his tongue against and inside her; it's all a swirl of rough heat inside her head and in the pit of her stomach, and she isn't sure how long it takes but it doesn't _feel_ very long at all before she's digging her heels into his back again as she comes.

He stays there for a moment, breathing warmly against her and licking his lips slowly, which makes her shiver again at the contact on oversensitized skin. She tugs a little at his hair and he looks up, smiling and opening his mouth to say something--

\--then falling back on his ass hard as a chorus of voices comes from upstairs, possibly everyone on the stupid tour except the two of them, yelling "William!"

"I think they're looking for you," she manages after a moment, trying not to laugh. It _is_ funny, but the unguarded disappointment on his face isn't, and she doesn't want him to think she's laughing at _him_.

"I hate them," he says. "Every last one of them. You think they'll actually come looking?"

" _William_!"

"Yes," she says sympathetically. "Sorry."

"That's life," he sighs, getting to his feet. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and offers her a wan smile and a half-bow. "Another time, Victoria?"

"Absolutely," she says, glancing around her until she finds the scarf again. She tosses it to him and smiles as he catches it. "I mean, you stole my stuff and you haven't given it back yet."

"How careless of me," he says, his smile breaking wider as he turns to go.  
**  
Victoria waits through three songs before she straightens herself up and goes upstairs, heading directly to Alex's makeshift bar for a refill. Gabe is leaning against the wall nearby, weaving on his feet and telling anyone who comes near how much he loves them.

"Victoria!" he says when he sees her, beaming and throwing his arms out wide, almost decapitating Sisky in the process. "My favorite! Where have you been, I missed you!"

"Hi, Gabe." She lets him hug her, wrinkling her nose a little at the smell of unwashed boy-on-tour.

"Victoria," he says again, with utter seriousness. "I've been thinking."

"Did it hurt?"

"What? Shh. No. I wanted to tell you--if William's bugging you? With the teasing and stuff? I can tell him to quit it. If you want me to. I'll tell him to leave you alone."

She smiles and kisses his cheek. "It's okay, Gabe. Everything's cool."

"Yeah?" He grins and rumples up her hair. "Awesome."

"You're an asshole," she says, swatting at his hands before giving up and leaning against his chest. She looks across the room and sees William laughing as he submits to whatever complicated torture her band and his have cooked up for him, her scarf bright in his back pocket like a flag, or a promise.  



End file.
